Aftermath
by Mr. Pooch
Summary: I remember thinking she didn't need to protect me I'd seen this all already. Walt's POV, set in speculation area. Please read and review! Enjoy!


Title: Aftermath

Author: Failoh (Becky)

Rating: PG

Notes: This really doesn't come from anywhere; it's more speculation on what might happen. I hope you enjoy reading it, and please let me know if you do! No beta but spell-check.

Disclaimer: Belongs to ABC network, writers, directors, etc.

I remember the sky lit up a skeleton white with each lightening streak across the sky. I remember the wind howling and the sand blowing up in my eyes so I couldn't see. I remember the harsh pound of rain on me. I remember my father was in front of me, and then he wasn't. I remember Sun running over, her hands across my eyes. I remember thinking that she didn't need to protect me. I'd seen this all already.

I remember the morning after, sky bright blue and sand bright white. I remember sitting with Claire, who was fussing with Aaron. I remember her sadness as she told me that she'd look after me, that we had a lot in common. On the surface, I couldn't help but think she'd gone off the deep end after Charlie died, but maybe she knew more than I originally thought. In any way, I remember she became like a second mother to me…after.

I remember Sayid following taking me through the jungle, picking me up over sticks and checking the area ahead of me. I remember wanting to say to him that I wasn't five and didn't need an adult's help. Then once he picked me up and I saw it-a black snake curled up on the ground where I almost stepped. And I remember his sadness as he apologized. I remember wondering what he was apologizing for.

I remember Hurley trying to make me laugh after. I remember his silly dance after he almost got a hole-in-one( it was still twenty feet away) on the overgrown golf course. And I do remember laughing with him. We told each other stories-some we made up, others were true and that we told jokes-mine were as bad as his-but I remember thinking that he was my best friend on the island. He had lost his, so I guess he thought I was his best friend too. But who can tell with adults?

I remember hiding behind Jack whenever Mr. Locke was around. I didn't want to see him anymore, I couldn't look at him. I knew that he and Jack had problems between one another, and so I figured that if I hide behind him, Locke would never get to me. Once, he almost did. I could hear him behind me, getting ready to ask me a question that I hoped would bounce off like all other verbal notices were those days. But, of course, Locke's question went straight to my soul. He asked me, "Walt, are you happy your father is dead?"

Jin tried to say something, but I could see the guilt on his face, etching lines into it whenever he looked at me. There was a language barrier there, but something else too-Jin was not ashamed at the part he played in my dad's death. I couldn't blame him, and I still-to this day-didn't think he truly understood his whole role in it. The only time he tried to talk to me, it was only two words and they were only half-meant.

Kate tried to play mom too, but she would never be too good at that role. I liked it better when she would let me sit with her on the beach, and we'd just sit. I used to remember that I had a crush on her, a thousand years ago going on millenniums, but that was all gone now. Now, she sat-lost between her different ideas, her different hopes and dreams. She never spoke to me out loud, but I found that she didn't really talk much to anybody anymore. She did ask me, many times, if I was okay. I'm not sure if that counts.

I remember the only one who left me alone was Sawyer. I remember the sadness in his eyes when he realized his mistake-that my dad had actually helped bring about our rescue, not another betrayal- and the emptiness that came over him after he realized it. I remember he used to sit and stare at me, for so long, thinking I didn't notice. I remember thinking he might shoot me too, but he never came near me again-I don't think I ever saw his face up close to mine ever again. I guess he was ashamed.

I remember the funeral. They buried him next to two people I'd never met and next to Boone, who had been my friend. I remember telling him I loved him too, and then thinking that he probably wouldn't like to be buried here, on the island, but it was too late for that. It was the price he and I paid for returning to fix the mess he made.

_This mess I made_, he had said on the boat as we turned back towards the island. I remember the determination on his face, and I remember how happy I was, at that moment-maybe for the first time- to be his son.


End file.
